Holy Land

The next morning the front fifth of the deckhouse was cordoned off with one of the spare sails. The windows were also curtained, so no one could see what was inside. Of course everyone knew immediately that it was Coral Frond hidden in the new room.

No one was especially hungry that morning. A few sailors ate raw oats with mugs of water, keeping a nervous watch of the horizon. Gingersnap assessed the damage and took a census of the sailors, stumbling a few times as he went. Assuming he was nauseous, a griffin offered him a dried anchovy out of a greased paper package. It was nothing but salt, but it did make him feel better.

A few of the marines had cuts and bruises, two with gashes deep enough to require stitching, but there was but the one fatality. By the time he got to his name—Rolling Thunder—Gerald had already sewn the pegasus’ stiff body into a canvas sack and was smoking his greasy pipe over it. He had his suit rolled down to the waist, and all his feathers stood on end so that it seemed the suit couldn’t possibly have fit him in the first place.

“About two o’clock in the morning, I reckon,” he said without looking up. “Write that down. Moonlight will break the news to his folks when we return to Icewall. Are the boats back?”

He was referring to the eight boats that had set out before sunrise to take stock of the fleet. Gingersnap reported that seven had returned.

“I suppose the Wayward Son’s the problem,” Gerald said. “We’ll sail tomorrow then. Today we send off Old Captain Block along with this one.”

“There was no death flag on that ship,” Gingersnap remarked.

Gerald looked up, but before he could answer the boy from the previous night came with a message that Gingersnap was to report to the Captain in the deckhouse at once.

Moonlight was waiting for him alone at the makeshift curtain. She looked uncertain, even nervous.

“Coral Frond is not hurt very badly,” she said, seeing the despair that was building on his face. She paused for a moment and quickly glanced over her shoulder at the curtain. “There’s something about him. You’re not like him, are you?”

“What?” Gingersnap was starting to feel lightheaded, his mind racing through a thousand possibilities at once.

“Gingersnap,” Moonlight said in a motherly tone. “I don’t know the details, but here is what I suspect: your friend was badly injured many years ago. The face we’ve all seen… that’s not what he looks like now. He was not deceiving us out of malice. He’s still your friend, and he said he wants to see you. Just… prepare for the worst. Take a moment now. Remember, it’s still Coral Frond. Can you promise me you won’t panic?”

“Just show me already,” Gingersnap said. “If he’s not in pain, if he’s still in one piece, if his mind is still sound then I’ll be satisfied.”

“You say that now,” Moonlight said, planting her hoof.

“Just let me see him,” he said with some bite in his tone. “He’s my best friend. And I’ve seen a hundred exotic maladies in as many infirmaries. I’ve been in battles. My own face was once swollen so big that I could hardly breathe for days. What kind of deformity is so bad that even I can’t see him?”

“Alright.” she conceded and held open the end of the curtain for him.

A pair of glistening blue eyes stared at him from a nest of cushions and blankets and pages of logbooks, eyes without whites or pupils or any other features. His face was hairless, black and shining like new lacquer. It was the face of a changeling, a creature that Gingersnap had only ever seen as drawings, and drawings which he had always assumed to be wild exaggerations.

But as the initial shock faded, Gingersnap realized that he was not a changeling. Not entirely. Reddish coat covered his chest up to a ragged edge. The black shell ran down his neck in a seam slightly left of centre. The back of his neck and head were all covered with normal skin and coat, extending as far forward as the base of his left ear, though both ears were the black tubular ears of a changeling. His front hooves too had been replaced, the left going all the way up to his shoulder. Most remarkable of all was his horn. It was a unicorn’s horn affixed to the shell. The base was noticeably bleached, nearly white where it was merged with the forehead, but the top half had retained its original vibrant red.

A stream of slime flowed steadily from the corner of Coral Frond’s mouth. He was controlling the flow with a piece of canvas cloth. He closed his eyes when Gingersnap took a step forward.

“Did you know?” Gingersnap asked. It took a great effort just to speak.

Coral Frond shook his head without opening his eyes.

“It’s not your fault then,” Gingersnap said. He looked over his shoulder at Moonlight, who subtly nodded her approval. “Coral Frond, this really isn’t a good time. We’ll figure out what happened to you when our job is done. I’ll help you. But we need you on your hooves right now.”

“You’ll be wealthy when this is through, I’ll make sure of it,” Moonlight said. “You can be free of the navy. You can be free of Equestria altogether if you wish.”

Coral Frond hissed angrily, shooting green globs all over the deck. Suddenly embarrassed, he hastily wadded up the canvas and shoved it into his mouth.

“Say something,” Gingersnap urged anxiously. “Change your face back. What’s wrong?"

“His magic is drained, but that’s not the crux of it.” Moonlight said. She lay down next to Coral Frond and addressed him. “I doubt anyone will mind your appearance, but you’ll need to talk somehow.” She looked up at Gingersnap. “Can he borrow your face for now?”

“What?”

“He can’t remember what he looked like,” Moonlight explained, patting Coral Frond’s shoulder to keep him calm. “Not enough mirrors around here, and no good photographs either. He needs an undistorted image to work from. As his friend, I thought you were the best pony to ask.”

“Alright,” Gingersnap said. “Coral Frond, do what you have to do. At least then we can talk.”

Coral Frond cocked his head. Gingersnap read the pain in his face, though his stiff snout and painted-on eyes would have seemed uncanny to any casual observer. His horn glowed, first a dull green and then powering up to red. There was a quick flash, and then Gingersnap was face to face with a disconcerting vision of himself.

The chin and nose and forehead were his, but it was covered in Coral Frond’s skin. The mane was much longer, cascading down to his shoulders in full golden curls (which did not go well at all with his trimmed tail), and of course he had a horn. The eyes were also like Gingersnap’s, save for the color. Gingersnap had seen the dejected look in those eyes before, and could not understand why he did not feel the same. He took a step forward and embraced Coral Frond, both of them falling into the pile of blankets and pillows.

“I don’t know what happened,” Coral Frond said. Gingersnap felt his tears on his shoulder and held him tighter. “I’m not a changeling. I’m still me. I’m Coral Frond.”

“I believe you,” Gingersnap answered. Remembering that Moonlight—Captain Moonlight—was watching, he reluctantly took on a serious tone. “Pull yourself together. There’s work to do yet.”

“Alright,” Coral Frond said with a sigh, letting go and stumbling to his feet. He looked shaken, but there was new confidence in his eyes. “I’ll meet with my marines tonight. Will you be there?”

“Find me when you’re ready,” Gingersnap said.

“You two put all this back in order,” Moonlight said, easing back into her professional demeanor. “Any news from the other ships?”

“No other casualties so far,” Gingersnap reported, standing up straight and meeting her gaze. “Our boat to the Wayward Son has not returned. Gerald speculates that Captain Block is dead.”

“He’s not dead,” Moonlight said softly and continued. “You have your orders. I’ll be at the wheel.”

She tore down the curtains as she left. Gingersnap and Coral Frond worked hastily, both thinking over the new state of things. Coral Frond was about to close the last crate when a deep, clear voice filled the room. It was loud but not painfully so, and Gingersnap could not tell from whence it came.

“Permission to board, Captain Moonlight?”

“Come aboard, Captain Block,” came the reply, slightly muffled by the dense tropical wood of the Nephthys.

Coral Frond slammed down the lid and pushed the crates into the appropriate alcoves, and the two hurried on deck at a pace that would not seem too eager to the rest of the crew.

Captain Block was the oldest pony Gingersnap had ever seen. His face was gaunt and bald almost to the base of his neck where a few patches of bleached grey coat still clung on. His wide, square jaw was noticeably crooked, and a lump on the right side of his chin showed where it had been broken. His eye patch no longer covered his left socket, which seemed to expand and contract with each steaming breath. The rest of his body he covered with a flowing black cape with a gold-embroidered collar, and Gingersnap assumed from the way he drifted across the deck that he did not walk. Even his horn, the sturdiest and most consistent part of a unicorn, had managed to twist itself apart over the years to form two blunted tips and a hole halfway down its length.

“Captain Moonlight,” he said, his voice not at all proportionate to the nearly-imperceptible fluttering of his shriveled lips. “I am here for the funeral. You did not dump the body, did you?”

“He’s over here,” Gerald called from middeck. “We were going to have a short service; bare minimum.”

“You’ve already delayed us all night,” Captain Block said. Gingersnap shook his head, hoping to dislodge the voice from his ears. “Does anyone know the deceased? Family or friends? Surely he’s not alone.”

“His brother is a cook on the Finback, and he has two sisters on the Aeolian.” Moonlight reported, looking across the water all the way to the horizon beyond which those ships sailed. “He’s from Icewall. I did not know him well myself.”

Captain Block rotated slowly, glaring at all the young faces that turned aside or downwards one after another. Gingersnap made sure not to look away, though it seemed to matter little to the ancient captain.

“I thought you knew better, Captain Moonlight,” he said in a low voice. “What happened to your crew? The one that claimed the Hoard of the Immortal Dunes all those years ago?”

“They moved on,” Moonlight said, blushing slightly as Captain Block began to circle her. “They fish now. Some pilot cargo ships. A few are farmers. Those that answered my call are spread out across the fleet.”

“You are sailing to the hardest battle of your life, Captain Moonlight,” he said. “This is all you have?”

“They are more than adequate,” Moonlight said coldly. “Do what you will, Captain Block. I expect to sail before sundown.”

Captain Block rolled his one good eye and mumbled something under his breath, though Gingersnap thought he saw a smile curl his lips for a second.

The crew gathered on deck in two rows, with Captain Block whispering instructions in their ears. It was not a standard formation, yet somehow Gingersnap found his place without too much trouble. The boy waited by the bell, but there was no music. The body had become stiff in its shroud. Thankfully Captain Block could lift it smoothly with magic.

“We offer Rolling Thunder of Icewall, killed in battle,” he intoned solemnly. No doubt every ear in the fleet could hear him. “If we were friends to him in life, may he grant us smooth water and fair winds. And a bounty of fish, because I intend to fish tonight and many of us have a taste for it.”

Gingersnap thought he heard a bark of laughter from across the water. The body drifted over the gunwale and turned upright. The canvas fell by their own weight, forming an outline around Rolling Thunder’s face and catching slightly on his shoulders. Slowly he sank to the bell’s lento toll, and Gingersnap felt the dead stallion’s eyes staring at him.

And then as the bell continued to toll he rose up, wet cloth now clinging to his distorted features, his mouth open…

Gingersnap fell out of his hammock and bit back his scream. He could still taste the salty chowder from dinner. The air in the deckhouse seemed especially stale. Without putting on his outer suit he stumbled towards the centre of the room, groping for a ladder before remembering the layout of the ship. Opening a door he emerged onto the deck where a cool wind was blowing.

The sky was clear and full of stars. The fleet cut through the water on waves as calm as a puddle after a storm. A pair of lanterns was swinging at middeck on the Wayward Son as five griffins drew in skimming nets.

“Bless the old prune,” Gerald said under his breath. His line cut deep into his heavy leather gloves, but his tuna was nearly reeled in.

Healing magic was forbidden in Equestria. It was exactly as painful as receiving the injury, and the healer felt it too. Even the Children of the Night rarely used it.

Morning Breeze stepped out of the circle of stones smouldering, snow sizzling under his hooves. Moondancer had a two metre ring of dry pebbles around her.

New tracts of scar tissue ran all over his body. Morning Breeze sank into a fresh tide pool and looked to the east. In one more day the ships from Kelp Town would arrive; Yellow Jack’s birthright, and soon to be his.

That morning the sea ponies reported that Jack was moving west. A message had been dispatched for Moonlight’s fleet, but there would be little hope of her catching up if Jack meant to sail straight to Baltimare.

Without a blockade or heavy guns, without the half million marines and sailors pledged to his cause, Morning Breeze had to slow him down.